Edward stood in the entryway of the Cullen house, one hand still on the door, golden eyes flicking toward the stairs as if he could already hear everyone moving. The afternoon light caught the tension in his shoulders.

He'd been talking about Bella for weeks. The human girl from Forks. The one whose mind he couldn't read. And now, finally, he was bringing her home.

From upstairs, you could hear the faint creak of floorboards. Alice was probably already bouncing on her toes. Rosalie was definitely not.